Bad day

Dear Dan,

Today is a particularly bad day. I was scanning a photo of you last evening.The one with the Christmas cookies. This morning I drove to work and parked in the parking garage on Pugh Street. I never park in a parking garage that I don’t think of you, of course, but today all I could think of was “What were Dan’s thoughts in planning this?” “What was Dan thinking as he walked to the garage?” “Did Dan use the elevator or climb the stairs?” “What was Dan thinking as he climbed over the retaining wall?” “Was Dan crying?” “Did he change his mind after he jumped?” “What was his last thought?”

This line of thinking on my part is the worst thing I can do. It doesn’t honor your life and it sends me into a downward spiral.

And then I cry.

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